


a storm is brewing

by sleepyteas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, One Night Stands, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyteas/pseuds/sleepyteas
Summary: "It's fine," Akaashi answers, determined to play it cool. "It was just sex, Miya-san."Osamu’s eyes widen a bit and something Akaashi can't decipher flashes across his features before it’s gone completely, replaced by the usual stoicism.A few seconds pass before Osamu lets out a soft, “Hm. Okay then.”Akaashi Keiji and Miya Osamu have a one-night stand. One of them falls in love with the other over a bowl of wantanmen.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 79
Kudos: 270





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a love letter to Miya Osamu. Mild angst with a happy ending.
> 
> Fair warning: There's a scene where two mildly drunk people have sex. There's consent from both parties and the scene is not explicit but if it makes you uncomfortable, please tread with caution.

Tokyo on a rainy night is unforgiving.

The coldness not only drenches Akaashi's coat, but it seeps deeper, reaching his skin and making him uncomfortable from head to toe. Normally, he finds solace in the rain and how its soft pitter-patter calms his nerves – white noise he can focus on until it drowns out the rest of the world.

Tonight though, the rain is just a nuisance.

He’d forgotten to bring his umbrella with him this morning, too focused on the backlog that waited for him at work. Right before he shut his work laptop a little past 6pm, Tenma had been kind enough to offer his umbrella since he only lived a few blocks from the office. Akaashi lived two stations and a 15-minute walk away but the rain hadn’t started pouring then.

Now, sloshing his way through the streets of his neighborhood with leather shoes damp from the stray puddles that litter the concrete, he regrets not taking advantage of Tenma’s kindness.

Koenji is a charming district with its quaint and small shops. On a normal night, Akaashi would be admiring the cobbled streets lined with organized clutter, decades-old book stores, home-grown cafes, and vintage shops selling retro memorabilia. He’d people-watch the tourists and salarymen enjoying yakitori on beer crates set up as tables and chairs. He’d listen to the music streaming from the live bars, be it alternative rock or free-form jazz. It's a fascinating area beaming with contemporary history and a rebellious punk attitude and Akaashi’s absolutely in love with it.

Akaashi often stops by one of the vintage stores, not really keen on buying anything. He just likes looking at old-world treasures, making up stories in his head about their own little pasts. Was this beautiful ceramic teapot, worn down by age and use, a family heirloom that survived a fire? What about this rusty typewriter with red ink splattered on the roller knob -- how many novels, love letters, newsprints has it helped create?

But tonight, Akaashi just wants to go home, take a bath, and curl up as he continues reading the new Sayaka Murata novel he picked up a few days ago. He passes by several novelty stores and restaurants without paying them notice. They’re just blurs in his peripheral vision, yellow lights dancing gracefully around the outskirts of his focus.

He's near his apartment building when he sees the corner of the street blocked with traffic cones and a sign that says “Minor Construction Ongoing. Sorry for the Inconvenience.” Akaashi runs a hand through his wet hair in frustration, cringing slightly as he tugs on damp dark locks.

It’s just his luck. It seems that authorities are finally fixing the potholes that have been there for months, but they had to stop because of the inclement weather.

Akaashi throws a tiny glare at the sky stretched out above him.  _ This is all your fault.  _ The rain has dwindled down, hard pellets turning into a soft drizzle but even though the air has stopped nicking at his skin, he still feels cold.

The sky does not twinkle back mischief with the stars. He is met with apathetic silence from the heavens and the slick crunch of rubber tires on wet asphalt as a car passes by.

No choice but to go the longer way, which is two blocks more than his usual route.

He trudges through the other side of the street with renewed vigor, impatience gnawing at his feet because he wants to be home as soon as possible. His steps are quick and deliberate, that is, until he sees a familiar face, one that he never expected to see in Tokyo again, let alone in his own neighborhood.

Akaashi stops dead in his tracks as he locks eyes with Miya Osamu.

Faint thunder rumbles in the background and Akaashi wonders if maybe his heart's like a thunderstorm - rough on the edges, a secret kept between flashes of lightning, a deep echo somewhere down his throat that he doesn't know how to keep in touch with.

What happened last week is still fresh in his mind.

**☁️**

“Akaashi! You made it!” Bokuto’s greeting carries throughout the hallway, and Akaashi briefly wonders if Bokuto’s neighbors often complain about his lack of indoor voice.

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replies, untying his shoelaces and setting them carefully near the doormat. He sees about ten other pairs of shoes already lining the floor. “You wouldn’t stop texting me after all.”

Bokuto laughs heartily, a sound Akaahis knows all too well, even though he only hears it once or twice a month now over quick how-are-you phone calls. “Give me a hug, ‘Kaashi! I missed you.”

Akaashi opens his arms and indulges his former captain, the warmth of Bokuto’s body pressed against his a familiar one. His nose is attacked by the minty scent of Bokuto’s pomade, a comfort that Akaashi likes to relish every once in a while.

“Oh, Akaashi-san’s here!” a voice calls out from the hallway. Akaashi only realizes now that he left the door open.

Akaashi lets go of Bokuto and sees Hinata bounding up to him, Sakusa in tow. They engage in pleasantries and small talk, Hinata gushing over a series published by the weekly manga magazine Akaashi works for. Sakusa asks if he had any trouble with the commute.

“Okay, okay, let’s not keep Akaashi to ourselves!” Bokuto pipes up after Hinata asks if he can get a signed copy of the new shounen series Akaashi is editing. Bokuto claps the three of them on the back, making Sakusa flinch and Akaashi stumble a bit. God damn, the strength of a pro athlete. “Sarukui and Tsum-tsum are already setting up the karaoke!” Bokuto lets out a whoop as he leads them further into his apartment, where the party is already in full swing.

It’s Bokuto’s annual Golden Week party, which usually just consists of his teammates, both old and current, singing their hearts out and catching up over drinks -- a celebratory occasion for the few days they have off from training or whatever career they’ve pursued outside volleyball. While this was usually held in Bokuto’s apartment in Osaka, with the Fukurodani VBC ’13 team making the long trip down South, Bokuto had saved up enough to buy a two-bedroom condo unit in Tokyo. He’d decided that his annual party was the perfect time to show his new home to everyone.

Akaashi quickly nods in greeting to the MSBY players on the couch, not particularly close to anyone except for Bokuto and Hinata. He’s about to head over to the kitchen, where he hears the voices of Washio and Konoha, when he notices that there’s someone new in their little gathering.

Akaashi has only ever talked with Miya Osamu once, when he went out to Sendai to personally support Hinata’s professional debut and see Bokuto play in his long-awaited match against the Schweiden Adlers. That was over a year ago.

When their hands had brushed as Osamu handed him his pack of onigiri, Akaashi remembers the heat that rose in his cheeks. It was hard not to when Osamu looked so damn attractive in his work uniform and radiated a quiet air of confidence. He’d even end up asking Osamu if they were going to open a Tokyo branch. But it was an infatuation Akaashi completely forgot about the moment he boarded the train back to Tokyo, fairly certain they were never going to cross paths again.

As they say, out of sight, out of mind.

But right now, Osamu is clearly in his line of vision and he looks every bit like a teenage dream in his tight black shirt and gray joggers. He’s sitting lazily on the couch beside Atsumu, long legs sprawled out and his arms behind his head. Toned arms. Tight shirt. A small smirk on his face as Atsumu goes off-key while singing Arashi’s Love So Sweet.

It’s taking all of Akaashi’s resolve not to stare too long as Osamu takes a swig of his beer.

It’s going to be a long night.

**☁️  
**

If Akaashi’s the irrational type, he would say it’s Bokuto’s fault all of this happened.

Akaashi’s had two bottles of beer and three shots of tequila when Bokuto proposes that everyone should play a game of Pocky Kiss. His idea is met with a mixture of resounding groans, cheers, and howls.

Akaashi’s too buzzed to care about the game, his eyes darting to Osamu before he can stop himself. To his surprise, Osamu is also looking at him, a glazed look over his eyes. He’s probably had a bit too much to drink too. Akaashi quickly goes back to staring at his hands, his face reddening. From the alcohol or from something else, only heaven knows.

He was able to talk to Osamu for a brief moment tonight when they bumped into each other at the kitchen. Turns out he’s in town for two weeks, just arrived yesterday, and he got dragged along by Atsumu to the party. He’s in Tokyo scouting areas for a possible expansion of Onigiri Miya. For a brief moment, Akaashi wonders if Osamu remembers the question he asked a year ago.

Osamu’s got his eyes on Suginami and Akaashi mentions that he lives in Koenji, one of the ward’s neighborhoods. Akaashi didn’t miss the way Osamu’s eyes had lit up for a fraction of a second.

The conversation was casual enough but Akaashi’s heart had hammered uncontrollably against his chest, like someone was trespassing on his private property. He finds a lot of men attractive but the gravitational pull that Osamu has on Akaashi frightens him a bit. It’s been so long since he felt the stirrings of a crush invade the barriers he’s set up. 

“My party, my rules!” Bokuto hollers. He already has a pack of strawberry-flavored Pocky in his hand. “If you don’t wanna play, then you’re no fun!”

“I wanna play!” Atsumu raises his hand, a faint flush over his cheeks. “I’m lots of fun. Hinata, be my partner!”

Hinata springs from his seat, still quick and light on his feet even though Akaashi swears Hinata’s downed too many shots of tequila. “Sure!” He gives Atsumu a high-five and a kissy face before he pumps his fist in the air. “Let’s win thiiiis!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Bokuto beams, ripping open the box of Pocky and handing a piece to Atsumu. “Tsum-tsum, choose who you wanna go against.”

“Ha! That’s easy.” Atsumu has a dangerous glint in his eyes as he looks at his twin and does a come hither gesture. “Osamu, c’mere so I can beat you.”

Osamu scoffs but he pads over to Atsumu. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but the taunt must have gotten to him.

“Okay, now we just need one more player!” Bokuto scans the rest of room like a hawk and suddenly, the floor is interesting to everyone. That’s Akaashi’s signal. He gets up, ready to excuse himself to the bathroom when he hears Osamu say, “I’d like to play with Akaashi-san.”

What.

Akaashi whips his head, eyes wide at Osamu. Osamu’s disinterested face betrays nothing.

Bokuto blinks a few times, surprise etched all over his features, before his mouth breaks into a hesitant grin. “Uh, do you wanna play, Akaashi?”

Everyone’s watching him, curious as to how he’ll react. He sees Konoha trying to hide a smile and Atsumu sizing him up.

Akaashi has two choices. One, he tells everyone that he has to pee, which is a lame excuse that nobody will probably buy. Two, he agrees to the stupid game so that he can get it over with.

He knows both choices will just end up in him playing. He wants nothing more than to throw a pillow at Osamu’s devastatingly handsome face, which might just be #1 on Akaashi’s current love-hate list.

He nods, stands up wobbling a bit, and goes to Osamu’s side. He can’t bear to look at Osamu so he focuses on Bokuto instead, who eyes him warily before handing him a Pocky stick. Given the current situation, the delicate biscuit weighs a ton on his palm.

The rules of the game are simple. The players bite each end of the stick and then eat towards the middle. The team with the shortest stick after both players get to the middle wins the game.

Even though the game was popular back in his college days, it’s Akaashi’s first time playing. But that’s not the reason for his nerves. His shaking hands and quickened breaths are all because of his proximity with Osamu, barely five inches separating them from each other. Osamu looks at him, gaze unwavering. Akaashi feels a sheen of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Akaashi can’t remember how his mouth moved after Bokuto yelled “Go!” but before he can even bite all the way to the middle, Osamu’s lips have brushed against his, sending a bolt of electricity down his spine. Quick, barely there, but shocking all the same.

Osamu quickly pulls away after that, holding up what’s left of their biscuit. It’s a tiny piece, it should be, because their lips fucking touched. They end up winning. Akaashi feels fire running through his veins.

As Atsumu wails over his loss, Akaashi finally excuses himself to the bathroom. He’s just a few steps away from the door when he almost trips, still unstable in his tipsy state or perhaps over what happened just a few minutes ago, before a strong arm latches around his waist and prevents him from falling face-flat on the floor.

"Easy there," Osamu murmurs and the deepness of his voice does things to Akaashi's belly. He helps Akaashi lift himself up into a standing position.

"S-sorry," Akaashi slurs in response. "I'm just--"

"Are ya drunk?" Osamu reaches for his arm and Akaashi doesn't have the energy to swath it away.

"Not really. I don't think so--"

He's interrupted by Osamu dragging him by the arm and leading them into the bathroom. Osamu locks the door, grabs Akaashi by the front of his sweater, and pushes him firmly against the wall. “I saw the way ya looked at me all night.” Osamu leans in, close enough for Akaashi to feel his breath ghost over his lips. "This okay?" he asks, voice tender and more intoxicating than expensive liquor.

Akaashi knows he's had a few drinks, but he’s not drunk enough to say yes without knowing the repercussions. He’s not sure if he’ll regret this in the morning but up close like this, there's no mistaking Osamu's beauty. It’s a terrible kind of beauty-the kind that makes even the most seldom-used libido flare up without fair warning. Akaashi feels the licks of heat against the base of his stomach and gulps.

"Yeah."

Osamu closes the distance between them: a quick slam of lips before he licks his way into Akaashi's mouth.

Akaashi is startled, but he reciprocates instantly. The liquor has stripped him of his natural reserve. His fingers press into the small of Osamu's back and he feels the contours of Osamu's well-toned body.

Akaashi hasn't kissed a lot of people, not by any standard. But whenever Osamu captures his lips with luxurious pressure and licks into his mouth on an exhale, Akaashi knows he's never had better. Osamu's arms are wrapped tightly across Akaashi's waist, and everything feels delicious.

"Let's go to yer place," Osamu says as he sucks lightly on Akaashi's neck.

"Okay."

Before Akaashi knows it, they're suddenly on the sidewalk, Osamu's fingers loose around his wrist. It's close to 1am so they can't take the last train home to his apartment. They hail a cab, and Akaashi knows it’s going to be expensive, but he can’t bring himself to care. He types out a message to the Fukurodani ’13 group chat, letting them know he’s on his way home.

All of them were still there when he and Osamu slipped away from the party. Akaashi doesn’t know if anyone noticed that they headed out together, but he’ll deal with that in the morning. Right now, he’s focused on one thing: Osamu’s palm on his thigh like a promise.

In the elevator of Akaashi's apartment building, they keep their hands in their pockets, the CCTV winking above them. It’s a short walk from the elevator to Akaashi’s unit and finally, he’s turning the knob to his one-bedroom flat. He closes the door and Osamu's instantly all over him, one hand on Akaashi's nape and the other fumbling at the zipper of his jeans. They eventually reach his bed without any trouble, taking their clothes off along the way.

"Condom," Osamu mumbles as he makes out with Akaashi's neck.

"Top drawer," Akaashi pants as Osamu licks the length of his collarbones.

Everything after that is a blur.

Akaashi remembers the crinkle of the package when Osamu opened it with his mouth, the heat of Osamu's hands as he roamed them all over his chest, the brush of Osamu's fingers above the waistband of his underwear. And eventually, Osamu's body against his back, and Osamu's breath against the sensitive spot behind his ear. Akaashi also hears his own moans, low and longing and letting on more than he hoped Osamu to hear.

When Akaashi wakes up the next morning, his sheets are crumpled, and his mouth feels like cotton. A thrumming sound echoes in his head. There’s his sweater on the floor, his scrunched-up jeans, a sock, and his briefs. He’s still wearing the other sock, his left foot warm underneath the blanket.

It’s Sunday, the clouds are gray outside his window, and he's alone.

Later, after he's had a hot shower and a bowl of homemade miso soup, Akaashi takes out the trash. That's where he finds the used condom, knotted expertly at the top.

Faint thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s starting to rain outside. Akaashi watches droplets fall slowly on the window, taking in the silence of his apartment.

**☁️**

What happened last week is still fresh in Akaashi’s mind. Looking at Osamu now, he wonders if it’s the same for him.

“Fancy meetin’ ya here, Akaashi-kun.” There’s a hint of a smile on Osamu’s lips.

“I live here.”

“I know.” Osamu walks over to him so that they can share his umbrella. “Yer drenched.”

Akaashi fixes the strap of his bag, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t expect it to rain,” he mumbles, drawing his bag close to his chest so that it’s covered by the umbrella. “What brings you here, Miya-san?”

“Lookin’ for the best bowl of wantanmen in all of Japan. Or so they say.”

Akaashi knows the place. It's tucked down an alleyway in the northern part of Koenji, about four blocks away. It’s quite famous. Apparently, the main chef trained at the prestigious Tantanmei Institution, the country's best place for wonton training. The noodle shop gets featured on TV shows a lot.

“Hayashimaru?”

“Yep, that one.” Osamu looks at his phone which has Google Maps open. “My signal’s bad so I’ve been walkin’ round in circles.” Osamu turns to look at Akaashi. “Ya know the place?”

“Yeah. It’s near. I can take you there if you want.”

Osamu stares at Akaashi with the same deadpan expression he gave him at the party. “That’s nice an’ all but yer drenched. Don’t want ya catchin’ a cold ‘cause of me.”

“I’ll go change. My apartment’s not that far.”

“Have ya eaten dinner yet?”

Akaashi had planned on just grabbing a bento box from the Lawson in his apartment building, but the underlying invitation is more tempting than dry katsudon. “No,” he says, looking straight ahead, even with Osamu’s gaze on him.

“Great. Dinner’s my treat.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. I just want to.” Osamu quirks an eyebrow at him. “Plus, ya seem to forget I’m a successful businessman.”

They don’t talk anymore on the short walk to Akaashi’s apartment. Akaashi feels a familiar prickling sensation go down his spine when the elevator door closes in on them and they’re both alone in the cramped space. The last time this happened, they were filled with liquor, lust, and not much more. Right now, they’re all stilted conversation and clammy hands. Or maybe that’s just Akaashi. Osamu doesn’t seem to have any problem being in his presence at all.

“Did you really come all the way to Koenji for wantanmen?” Akaashi asks, looking at Osamu’s reflection on the elevator door that doubles as a mirror.

He sees Osamu smirk at him with his hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically coy. “Wow, Akaashi-kun. Are ya hopin’ I came here to see ya?”

It takes some effort for Akaashi to keep an impassive expression but his cheeks probably betrayed him because Osamu lets out a breathy chuckle, eyes crinkling. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I’m rentin’ a place in Asagaya. It’s not too far from here.”

They reach Akaashi’s floor and step out of the elevator. “Wanted to do some sightseein’ ‘round this area,” Osamu continues as Akaashi fishes out his keys from the pocket of his messenger bag. “Plus, I already found the perfect place for my Asagaya branch so it made sense to check out the surrounding neighborhood until I get all the arrangements done. Since I'll be spendin' a lot of time here in the next year or so.”

“Oh, so you’ve fully decided on Asagaya.” They’re inside his apartment now. Osamu scans his eyes across the place as Akaashi pads over to his closet. He doesn’t know what’s going on in Osamu’s mind as he takes it all in. After all, he’s been here before. It’s just that the last time, they had been too busy trying to take each other’s clothes off. For the most part, Akaashi’s apartment is neat, except for the occasional stray books left on the couch or the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, had a meeting with the landlord last Sunday,” Osamu says, eyeing Akaashi’s collection of trinkets on the coffee table. There’s a rain shaker, a scented candle that’s served half of its life, a healthy-looking succulent, and a wooden owl ornament gifted by Yukie. “Actually, that’s the reason I left before ya woke up. Sorry ‘bout that.”

He made it sound so easy – acknowledging the elephant in the room when the words have been lodged in Akaashi’s throat for the past half-hour.

“It’s fine,” Akaashi mumbles as he grabs a plain white shirt.

“Actually, it’s not. Felt like a real douche afterwards.” Osamu walks towards the coffee table and picks up the rain shaker. “I planned on gettin’ yer number from Hinata or Bokuto but then they were gonna be suspicious. Didn’t want them botherin’ ya with questions.”

Miya Osamu is thoughtful, Akaashi notes in his head. He doesn’t know why it comes as a surprise to him. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you.” He walks over to his bathroom to change. “I’ll be done in a sec.”

It’s silly, considering Osamu has probably seen everything there is to see, but Akaashi’s modest when he’s sober. He changes out of his damp long-sleeved polo, feeling relief as he puts on the clean cotton shirt. He slips into his windbreaker quickly and exits his bathroom.

He walks out to see Osamu playing around with the rain shaker, making soothing sounds with the pebbles and beans inside the instrument. It’s Akaashi’s recent purchase from one of the novelty stores. He doesn’t believe in the myth that they’ll bring in rain although it’s an interesting back story. He just loves that it can mimic the sound of rainfall.

“Cool, isn’t it?” He says to Osamu.

“Yeah, where’d ya get this?”

“One of the shops along Junjo Shopping Street. They’ve got plenty of neat stuff,” Akaashi says as he takes his wallet and phone from his bag. “I’m usually just there to admire the items on display but that one I couldn’t resist.”

“Junjo Shopping Street?” Osamu asks, running his fingers along the rain shaker. “Take me there sometime.”

Sometime. It means that Osamu wants to hang out again after tonight. Akaashi’s stomach does a little flip-flop.

“Sure.”

Dinner is an enjoyable affair by Akaashi’s standards. The food is excellent, the wontons tender and perfectly seasoned. The noodles medium-thick and straight with a good chew. The broth deep, flavorful, and refreshing – perfect for the cold rainy night. Alongside their bowls of wantanmen, they share a plate of karaage.

Conversation flows easily between the two of them. It doesn’t take long for Akaashi to realize that Osamu is great company to be with. He never makes Akaashi feel awkward, even though sometimes Akaashi can’t relate to his ramblings about food and the Korean dramas he watches. Akaashi’s never watched a single Korean drama in his life, but it’s fun listening to Osamu talk about an interest that caught Akaashi by surprise. Miya Osamu is an enigma and Akaashi would peel layer after layer if he could. And not all at once, because he knows there is much to see and discover.

It’s during a lull in their conversation about Itaewon Class when Osamu suddenly asks, “Do ya regret it?”

“Huh? Regret what?” Akaashi bites into his second piece of karaage.

“Havin’ sex with me?”

Akaashi almost chokes on his breaded chicken. He clears his throat before saying, “No.” It’s a loaded question and Akaashi feels inclined to elaborate but he decides to leave it at that. He wants to be cool and casual Akaashi with cool and casual Osamu.

Osamu hums, not satisfied with the one-word reply. But as Akaashi’s noticed throughout their interactions, Osamu can read the room very well.

“Since when did you know you were into guys?” Osamu asks instead, in the same manner that someone would ask about the weather. That’s another admirable trait about him – how he has the easy confidence to ask personal questions without coming off as invasive. It’s a talent that Akaashi almost envies.

“I was high school, I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I don’t know the specifics. It was a gradual process and I was in denial for a long time.”

“I get that.” There’s a pregnant pause and Akaashi already knows where this is leading. “Did you have a thing with Bokuto-kun?”

_ There we go. _

Akaashi shakes his head, smiling a bit. “Everyone just thinks so. I have deep admiration for Bokuto-san and we both understand each other in unique ways, but our feelings have never been romantic. Trust me, we’ve talked about it.”

Osamu looks impressed. “Hm. I actually thought you guys were a thing.”

“The only time I had a serious relationship with a guy was back in college. We lasted for a year before we realized it wasn’t working out anymore.” Akaashi adjusts his glasses, which slides each time he bends down to eat. “He’s getting married next month.”

“Wow, good for him, I guess.”

“How about you?” Akaashi asks, not wanting to talk more about his ex. He doesn’t know how much he can tiptoe around Osamu but it only seems fair to steer the topic towards him. Akaashi’s said too much already.

“Me? I’ve liked guys since middle school. Ya know Suna Rintarou?” Akaashi nods as an image of the middle blocker with beautiful heavy-lidded eyes flashes in his mind. “Yeah, guess ya could say he was my high school sweetheart. We were together for five years and thought we were in it for the long run. Our bond was special but things happened.” Osamu sets down his chopsticks, his entire bowl clean. “We don’t really talk anymore but he’s been textin’ me a lot these days, ever since dumb Tsumu told him I was in Tokyo.” He wipes his lips with a paper tissue before he mutters, “Wonder what he wants.”

Akaashi hears something different in Osamu’s voice when he talks about Suna – hints of fondness and nostalgia that make Akaashi suddenly feel inadequate. It’s a tone Akaashi’s never used when talking about anyone, including his ex and the other guys he’s had casual dates with over the years. Maybe Bokuto, but his love for him has always been platonic.

Akaashi tries to bury the foreign feeling in his chest six feet into the ground before it can get bigger and turn into a manifestation of ache.

“Also, yer my first one night stand in a long time. Haven’t had one since college, right after Suna and I broke up,” Osamu confesses, scratching the tip of his nose and looking a little sheepish. “I don’t want ‘ya goin’ around thinkin’ the wrong thing ‘bout me, since we kinda know each other now and all that. Sorry, I just got too into the moment ‘cause of Bokuto’s stupid game.”

“Oh,” Akaashi says and he hopes that blood isn’t steeping in his cheeks at the moment. He decides not to mention that that was the only one-night stand he's had. Ever. “You don’t have to say sorry. I told you already, I wanted it too.”

“Yeah, but ‘ya know it’s weird that I just came on to ‘ya like that. And I still feel like a douche for not sayin’ goodbye. Lucky I bumped into ‘ya.”

It's strange how touched Akaashi feels, considering the circumstances. "It's fine," he answers, determined to play it cool. "It was just sex, Miya-san."

Osamu’s eyes widen a bit and something Akaashi can't decipher flashes across Osamu’s features before it’s gone completely, replaced by the usual stoicism. Akaashi almost doesn’t catch it but it was enough for him to feel like he said the wrong thing.

A few seconds pass before Osamu lets out a soft, “Hm. Okay then.”

Akaashi can tell there’s a shift in the mood but he chooses to shrug it off as Osamu pays for their dinner. On the way out, he asks Osamu how long he’ll be staying in Tokyo.

“I’ll be here ‘til Saturday,” Osamu replies as he grabs his umbrella from the stand. “I’ll be coordinating with the guys in charge of outfitting the branch.”

Saturday. That’s four days away.

“Miya-san, since you paid for my dinner tonight, let me treat you to dinner tomorrow.” The offer feels heavy on Akaashi’s tongue, but it’s not because he’s reluctant to do so, it’s because he desperately wants the other to say yes.

Osamu turns to him, a half-smile on his face. “Huh, ya don’t have to.”

“I know. I just want to.” Akaashi quirks an eyebrow. “You may be a successful businessman, but don’t forget I’m an associate editor for Japan’s best-selling manga magazine.”

Osamu chuckles. It’s a sound Akaashi can get used to. “Ha, okay, ya got me there, Mr. Hotshot Editor.”

“I know a really good curry place. Meet me at the Lawson in my apartment tomorrow, 7pm?”

“Sure, Akaashi-kun.” Osamu throws him a grin before he turns his back. He gives a little wave as he walks down the street. “See ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first fic for the HQ fandom and the first fic I've written in over 4 years. I'm a bit rusty but I hope you still enjoyed. For any minor typos, please feel free to point them out.
> 
> I actually posted half of this chapter around three months ago but took it down because I couldn't commit to it then. I figured it was better to flesh out the entire fic in my drafts first before I started posting the chapters. And here we are!
> 
> Next chapter drops in two weeks, hopefully.


	2. Chapter 2

Akaashi Keiji is not lonely.

He tells himself this as he sits at an empty table outside Lawson, fingers drumming on linoleum. He’s a bundle of silent nerves as he waits for Osamu to arrive, watching each person that passes by with baited breath. He peeks at his wristwatch and sees the minute hand pointing towards 2. Osamu’s running late by ten minutes and Akaashi has no idea why. They really should have exchanged numbers last night.

The fact that Akaashi’s been single for three years already and hasn’t had sex with anyone in the past year is definitely not the reason he craves Osamu’s company. Or maybe it is -- Akaashi touch starved for so long that the first time someone actually wants him again, he breaks so easily and gives himself as a naked offering. It doesn’t help that the person he became intimate with is someone as attractive and as easygoing as Osamu. 

Just as he’s about to check his watch again, he finally sees Osamu striding up to him, carrying a small paper bag.

“Hey, sorry I’m a bit late,” Osamu says as Akaashi stands up to greet him.

“It’s okay, Miya-san,” Akaashi says, acting like he hadn’t been nervous a minute ago at the thought of Osamu bailing on him.

“Oh yeah, I got ya this.” Osamu hands the small paper bag to Akaashi. “Passed by a shop selling ‘em and I thought ya could use a new one.”

Akaashi takes the bag and peers inside to find a sandalwood-scented candle. He looks up at Osamu and hopes to god that he’s not blushing. “You didn’t have to. I don’t have anything for you.”

“It’s fine, yer already treatin’ me to dinner.”

“Yes, but still. This is very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Miya-san. I’ll use it well.”

Osamu smiles. “So where’s this curry place yer taking me? Been lookin’ forward to dinner all day.”

Akaashi’s heart betrays him by quickening its pace. _He’s looking forward to the dinner because he loves food, not because he’s having it with you._

“Spice Curry Seiran. Have you heard of it? It’s quite famous,” Akaashi says as he guides Osamu through the throng of people out on a beautiful Wednesday night. While the district sees its fair share of tourists and young professionals, Koenji mostly attracts college students who seek refuge in secondhand bookstores, vintage thrift shops, and the underground music scene. Akaashi used to be one of them. He was enamored by how the energy of the area strikes the perfect balance between vibrant and laidback that when he could finally afford to live on his own, Koenji was at the top of his list.

“No, I haven’t,” Osamu replies, eyeing a group of salarymen laughing over beer and yakitori at one of the roadside restaurants.

“You’re in for a treat, then. They make really good curry.” Akaashi takes his phone from his jacket pocket. “Oh yeah, before I forget, Miya-san, can I get your number? I feel like we should’ve done this already last night.”

Osamu stops in his tracks and blinks at Akaashi. A toothy grin stretches across his face before he cracks up. “Damn, ‘Kaashi-kun, for a serious guy, ya can be pretty smooth.”

“Watch it.”

“Yessir.” Osamu chuckles behind his hand, his hooded eyes still bright with the remnants of laughter.

Thankfully, there isn’t a long line at the restaurant when they arrive. They’re seated at a booth after ten minutes and a waitress takes their orders after giving them glasses of water. They each get a curry set meal: Spicy Chicken for Akaashi and Pork Ginger Keema for Osamu.

When their orders arrive, the fragrances coming from the plates make Akaashi's stomach flutter in excitement. He hears Osamu across from him hum in appreciation as he takes his first bite.

“Yer right, Akaashi-kun. This is some really good grub.” Osamu beams at him. It’s a simple reaction, really, but the look of pure delight on his face is similar to a child getting the last slice of cake, even though it’s someone else’s birthday. Or a grown man who doesn’t just appreciate good food, but lives to try all of them. For better or for worse, Akaashi’s heart swells and he’s speeding into dangerous territory again but he doesn’t know where the brakes are. He’s not sure he even wants to know.

It’s when they’re talking about the new mangaka that Akaashi’s handling when Osamu’s phone suddenly rings. Osamu takes one look at the caller before he excuses himself and stands up, face looking troubled. He’s gone for a solid ten minutes, enough for Akaashi to worry that Osamu’s meal is getting cold. When he comes back, Akaashi asks if everything’s fine. Osamu brushes it off as a friend just needing help.

Akaashi doesn’t mean to but as he bends down to take another spoonful of rice, his eyes graze over Osamu’s unlocked phone and he sees that the recent caller is none other than Suna Rintarou, although it just says “Sunarin” on the caller ID. He pretends the burning in his throat is from the spicy curry.

They continue with dinner as if nothing happened. Like last night, Osamu asks a lot of questions while they eat. “Hey, tell me somethin’ ‘bout yerself ya never told anyone else yet. Doesn’t have to be a big secret, just a random thing like I dunno the last meal ya wanna eat before ya die.”

“Nanohana with Karashi mustard dressing.”

“Eh, that’s oddly specific. But I gave ya that prompt, ya gotta think of somethin’ else.”

There is one thing Akaashi hasn’t told anyone else. It sits at the tip of his tongue and he wills it to dissipate but when Osamu turns up to look at him with anticipation, he loses control. “I...I haven’t written anything in a long time.”

Akaashi knows that it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but to him it is. He doesn’t know if Osamu will get it.

“How come?” Osamu asks as he scrapes the last grains of rice from his bowl.

“I don’t know. Nothing moves me these days, I guess.”

Osamu puts down his chopsticks and looks at Akaashi straight on. “Are ya unhappy about it?”

“Yes...but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Osamu huffs. “I disagree. Sure, one day, somethin’ might move ya and you’ll finally find yer words again but I don’t think ya should just sit and wait too. And I should know, ‘cause it happens to me all the time. Not with writin’ of course, but with cookin’. Sometimes I’ll be in the kitchen an’ I’ll be all damn I can’t come up with a new recipe or a dish I made lacks the flavors I want it to have. And it upsets me but I don’t give up. I go to markets, eat everywhere, and try again instead of waitin’ for a nudge from the universe. Sometimes it’s still not good enough. But there are also times I make somethin’ an’ it’s great an’ everythin’ I want it to be. And that only happens ‘cause I try and try again.”

That night, Akaashi sits in front of his laptop, his face bathed in the artificial glow of a blank Word document. He tries to find the words but nothing comes out.

**☁️**

The next morning, as Akaashi’s waiting for his train to arrive, he feels his phone vibrate in his bag.

**Miya Osamu**

7:17am

good mornin’, akaashi-kun. where do u wanna have dinner tonight?

7:18am

I didn’t know we were having dinner tonight.

7:21am

well now u know :)

7:35am

Do you always make impromptu plans?

7:37am

only with cute setters ;) jk anyway, isn’t Koenji famous for their music scene? let’s go to a live bar tonight

7:55am

Okay. I know a good jazz club. See you 7pm at Lawson?

It’s a short walk from my apartment.

7:59am

sounds great. see u. hope u have a good day

8:10am

Thank you. Have a great day too, Miya-san.

**☁️**

With its signature-covered walls, retro wooden floors, and dim mood lighting, Jirokichi is the perfect place for Akaashi to unwind and listen to good music after a long day of line edits and content alignment meetings. It’s even better with Osamu pressed close beside him in the small table they occupy, arms brushing each time they reach for their bottles of Asahi Super Dry.

“They’re really good,” Osamu says as the quartet basking in the soft spotlight performs a cover of Hiromi Uehara’s Spectrum. “I’m not actually into jazz but I might get into it after tonight.”

“I’ve always been a fan. I can recommend you my favorite artists,” Akaashi replies before taking a swig of his beer. He doesn’t miss the way Osamu looks at his lips for a fraction of a second.

“Yeah, sure. I trust your taste.”

 _Of course you do. It includes you, after all_.

Akaashi grabs a stick of yakitori. “It’s amazing that these people have day jobs yet they still find the time to do what they love after work. Most nights, I’d rather just relax in bed.”

“And yet yer here with me tonight.” Osamu’s got a half-smile and he’s as handsome as ever. “I’m deeply honored, ‘Kaashi-kun.”

Akaashi bites down on a piece of yakitori to hide his embarrassment. He never meant it to sound like that but Osamu’s right. He’s here in a jazz club on a Thursday night, without a worry about his deadlines tomorrow. His only worry is if Osamu can sense how he flinches each time their thighs touch in the cramped space. If the other is doing it on purpose, he’ll never know. 

In his drastic effort to change the topic, Akaashi blurts out, “Why’d you quit volleyball?”

He instantly regrets it, thinking it might be a sensitive topic that he’s not allowed to breach but thankfully, Osamu’s expression doesn’t harden.

“I just had different dreams for myself.” Osamu shrugs. “An’ I love food. Simple as that. Were ya expecting a more profound answer?”

“No, not really...but you were good enough to go pro. Didn’t people try to push you into pursuing it?” There were people who certainly tried with Akaashi. None of them were close to being successful.

Osamu laughs. “Ya bet! Tsumu was really annoying ‘bout it. Wouldn’t shut up about me leaving him ‘til we fought it out. But Tsumu wasn’t the worst, ‘twas the rest of the people who had their own expectations of me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Ya know there’s a lot of unspoken pressure in the world to keep liking the things ya used to like and to keep doing the things yer good at, even though you’ve stopped being as passionate ‘bout those things. They don’t want ya to question the things ya used to believe in and basically all that ‘be yerself’ bullshit turns into ‘be what everyone knows ya as.’ It’s a load of crap.”

The next band is already setting up. Osamu turns to look at Akaashi with fire crackling in the edges of his eyes. “To answer yer first question again so I don’t sound like an onigiri-lovin’ idiot, I gave up volleyball ‘cause I made a decision based purely on what would make me happier – and that’s makin’ food for people. And it’s the best decision I ever made. I’ve gained a very comforting sense of self-peace ever since I quit the sport.” His face deepens as he drinks the last of his beer. “Tsumu called me a coward but I know I’m not. Cowards, I believe, are people who are afraid to embrace what they want or need in a natural and honest way. That ain’t me.”

Akaashi is still, rapt with full attention. He loves it when Osamu goes off-filter and wonders how lucky he is that he gets the privilege to hear his thoughts. He'd always thought Osamu was the more reserved twin but hearing him say these things makes him believe that Osamu is just as driven and ambitious as Atsumu.

As Akaashi lets his words simmer in his mind, Osamu’s phone suddenly lights up and vibrates. It makes the table quiver along with Akaashi’s resolve as he sees the caller ID. Osamu’s eyes widen and he immediately stands up, muttering “Just a sec” to Akaashi.

Akaashi’s eyes are fixed on Osamu as he walks briskly through the maze of tables. He looks like he’s shouting into his phone, concern written all over his features. Once he’s out of sight, Akaashi tries his best to focus on the new band that’s doing their sound check.

“Hello, everybody!” the lead singer chirps into the microphone. “How are we all doing on this lovely night?”

Akaashi grips his beer bottle, not sure if the wetness on his palms is from cold sweat or condensation. He can hear a faint ringing in his ears. Once again, the ache that has taken roots in his chest is starting to grow into weeds. He wants to pluck them all out one by one but his hands are too sweaty, busy gripping on a beer bottle.

 _Relax, Keiji. He was never yours to begin with_. In the back of his head, another voice tells him that perhaps he’s a coward.

Akaashi has yet to learn to embrace all that he wants and needs in a natural and honest way. He’s always a beat too late to go after his desires, brought about by his tendency to over-think what he wants in life. He’d only realized a month after the break-up with his ex that it was the wrong decision, a week into his job when he figured he should’ve fought harder for a spot in the Literature department. Was he going to be a day too late with Osamu?

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts. Osamu looks every bit apologetic -- from his stance to his eyes to the scrunch of his brows. “Hey, so sorry but I gotta run. It’s an emergency.”

And of course, Akaashi just lets him leave in the middle of a soulful rendition of Dream Eyes by the Kosuke Mine Quintet, one of his absolute favorites **.** Simply watches him go with ache that threatens his promise of non-attachment. Doesn’t stare after his figure because for all he knows, Miya Osamu might still belong to Suna Rintarou. Perhaps they’re both not cowards.

Akaashi takes his leave once the song ends, wishing he had chosen to stay in bed instead.

**Miya Osamu**

1:29am

hi, akaashi-kun. sorry again for earlier. let me make it up to u pls?

1:43am

i just searched up a good resto i wanna try tomorrow. have u eaten at Dachibin? my treat!

7:15am

good morning, akaashi-kun! lemme know if ur up for tonight. i’m free i promise

9:24am

akaashi, are you upset?

11:40am

Good morning, Miya-san. I’m sorry for the late reply. I’ve heard good things about Dachibin. We can meet at Lawson 7pm if that’s fine with you.

11:43am

nice! see u akaashi-kun

Akaashi stares at the last message, wondering if he’s always been this much of a pushover. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this eager to please someone. Perhaps, not since his high school days with Bokuto. He had planned to ignore Osamu’s texts until he could find the time and the right headspace to think about whatever the fuck’s happening between them, and to decide if his feelings are uncalled for. Those spikes of jealousy he’d felt last night were terrifying.

Against his better judgment, he ends up searching for Suna Rintarou on Google. It brings up over 132,000 results. There are news articles, game highlight videos on Youtube, and Monthly Volleyball interviews of EJP Raijin’s middle blocker. He also has photo endorsements for Asics and a Vit. C supplement. Akaashi clicks on a link that leads him to Suna’s Instagram account, which has over 120,000 followers.

There are many posts, it seems like the middle blocker is quite a photographer. Akaashi scrolls through Suna's travel photos, workout videos, behind-the-scenes footage of his photoshoots, and promotional posts with his team until he reaches a group photo of the 2013 Inarizaki VBC in a restaurant. He taps on the group photo and his eyes go straight to Osamu holding up a peace sign with his arm around his twin. Suna sits on Osamu's other side, a serene smile on his face. Akaashi feels a tingling sensation in his chest that’s not at all pleasant. Maybe it’s because when he looks at the two together, he sees all the ways his heart can bruise.

Akaashi exits the page and looks around the office. Tenma’s hunched over his desk, headphones on, scribbling notes on a yellow pad. Their other workmates have gone off to lunch.

Akaashi likes his job. It’s fulfilling and he enjoys working with his team. Not a lot of things happen but the letters and gifts they often receive from fans are heart-warming. Every other Friday, they head out for drinks at the nearby izakaya. Sometimes, they take trips together outside of the metropolis – the last one was to a famous onsen in a quaint mountain village in Kyoto.

Akaashi likes his life outside work too. The Fukurodani VBC ’13 players don’t meet up often but whenever they do, it always feels like coming home. Each time Akaashi’s with them, it’s like he’s back in high school and filled with the vigor of youth, the hope of unfulfilled dreams, and the comfort of shared inside jokes. It’s a wonderful feeling -- being surrounded by the people who helped shape him into the person he is today and continue to support him. On and off the court, they are teammates for life.

Akaashi also often hangs out with the few close friends he’d collected during his years in university, especially the ones he worked with when he was part of his college’s literary journal. As twenty-something creatives worn down by the advertising and publishing industries, they’re of a different breed from the Fukurodani team but Akaashi relishes their company all the same. 

There’s suddenly a loud thud followed by rambunctious laughter from the other room, bringing Akaashi’s thoughts back to his work laptop. It has blacked out to screensaver mode, showing various landscapes from around the world. He closes it and looks around his office again. 

The aircon makes a soft whirring noise, the succulents on Nakamura-san’s desk need a good spritz, and there’s an open bag of potato chips left on top of one of the file case cabinets. For some reason, the photocopier is broken again and they have yet to inform Admin about it. He’ll have to pass by Miyuki-san’s cubicle after lunch to file a report.

Akaashi’s life is a steady, quiet routine with simple joys and people he loves. Most days, they’re enough to keep him going. But right now, as he stares outside the window to cloudy skies, he can’t help but feel inadequate in the smallness of it all.

**☁️**

Akaashi’s never been to Dachibin but it seems like a restaurant he’ll go back to in the future. The menu states that their specialty is authentic Okinawan food which Akaashi's had in the past and liked quite well, especially goya champuru. He hated the dish as a kid but once he got used to the bitterness of the flavors, it was something he craved on occasion.

The place itself is a bit crowded with no proper booths, just two long counters opposite each other. But the pretty lamp lights, Ukiyo-e style paintings, and delicious smells make up for the lack of personal space. Plus, it’s not like Akaashi minds bumping elbows with the person beside him.

Osamu’s wearing a nice navy blue button-down shirt and gray slacks instead of his usual T-shirt and joggers ensemble.

“Looking fancy tonight,” Akaashi comments in what he hopes is a nonchalant tone. He doesn’t want to let on that the smart casual attire had his heartbeat accelerating at road runner speed when he’d arrived at the restaurant earlier.

Osamu looks down at his outfit before giving him a half-smile. “Just got off from interviewin’ a bunch of applicants. Wanted to look respectable.”

“And how’d that go, Mr. Miya?”

Osamu scoffs. “Gross, ‘Kaashi. That’s my dad yer referrin’ to.” He adjusts the leather strap of his watch, the shiny buckle glinting softly in Akaashi’s peripherals. “It went great. I actually managed to hire two people today. They’ll be off my hands for the next three months though. The manager’s gonna be takin’ care of them when I’m back in Amagasaki.”

_When I’m back in Amagasaki._

That’s right, it’s his last night in Tokyo. Akaashi hasn’t forgotten that Osamu leaves tomorrow but hearing him actually say it out loud makes him wish it weren’t true. The past few days, he’s gotten used to Osamu’s comforting presence, even if the comfort sometimes evolves into flitting emotions he’s not quite ready to face head-on. And who is Akaashi Keiji to Miya Osamu in the grand scheme of things anyway -- a one-night stand turned dinner companion?

Maybe that’s all they’ll ever be after tonight: two people who just enjoyed each other’s company. Two people who had sex but don’t talk about it because they’ve turned into friends. Friends -- nothing more, nothing less. Maybe a few months down the road, they’ll just be names in their phone contacts they never bother to text again.

“What’s on yer mind, ‘Kaashi-kun?” Osamu asks, flicking Akaashi’s side bangs. It’s a playful gesture, completely harmless, but after that he slides his arm across Akaashi’s seat and leans closer.

Akaashi, hyper-aware of their shared proximity, chooses to focus on the chef preparing soba in front of them. The trepidation he experienced during the stupid Pocky game is back to assault his senses. “It’s your last night. Is there something you want to do?” he asks, making an effort to keep his voice steady.

Osamu hums, a low and deep sound that Akaashi’s heard before. “Take me to Junjo Shopping Street.”

They head there after dinner and slip into one of Akaashi’s favorite stores – an establishment that sells second-hand books and antiques that don’t cost half of his monthly salary. The chimes ring as they enter the store, a crisp tingle of metal and wood knocking against each other.

The store’s not that big, barely 50 square meters in size, but every nook and cranny is cramped with novelty items. From glass vases gilded with gold to lacquered wooden tea chests to scroll paintings and vinyl records from the '60s -- the store’s got everything an old soul would love. As always, Akaashi’s eyes head straight to the two bookcases near the counter. He’s picked up a lot of gems from those shelves, nights of running his fingers through worn spines and captivating titles.

“Wow,” Osamu breathes the word beside him. It’s the reaction Akaashi was hoping for because he felt the same during his first time here. He’s glad Osamu shares his wonder.

Osamu starts walking towards a table that showcases the store’s collection of porcelain wares, Akaashi trailing from behind. “These are gorgeous,” Osamu murmurs as he looks over the selection of jars, bowls, plates, vases, and glasses – all with complex designs in various beautiful blues. He picks up a bowl and inspects it with careful attention. "Authentic stuff too. Ya see that dent at the side? They don't do that these days."

Akaashi hums in agreement. "Wabi-sabi. The traditional Japanase kiln's preference for imperfection to remind us of life's natural deterioration." Akaashi smiles. "Or to remind us that imperfection is beauty and there's understated elegance in making mistakes."

"...Yeah, ya just went all eloquent on me.”

Akaashi lets out a soft chuckle. “Sorry. I had a friend in college who wrote about it all the time and we had to dissect her poems during workshops. She hated the application of wabi-sabi to earthenware because if the imperfection’s intentional, then it defeats the purpose.”

Osamu places the bowl back on the table. “And you? What did you write about?”

“Memories. Love. Regrets.” Akaashi’s eyebrows furrow as a wave of embarrassment washes over him. “Most of my pieces were self-indulgent, my profs probably hated me.”

Osamu scratches his cheek, still looking at the porcelain wares. “Eh, one way or another, we’re all connected. They may be self-indulgent but if at least one person out there can relate to them, don’cha think that’s neat?”

Fondness blooms in Akaashi’s chest. In the past week, he can no longer count on his fingers the number of times Osamu has taken his breath away with small words of encouragement, a subtle yet meaningful type of kindness needed during brief moments of self-doubt. “Absolutely. Thanks, Miya-san.”

They continue exploring the shop, checking out the items and showing things that pique their interest to each other. For the first time, Akaashi doesn’t make up stories in his head as he roams around the collections because Osamu’s right beside him and he’s much more interesting than any inanimate object, even those with centuries worth of stories to tell. And best of all – Suna hasn’t interrupted them all night.

They admire the vintage kimonos in rich and dark hues, an old grandfather clock with soothing ticking sounds, samurai swords that have lost their gleam, and various netsuke ornaments. Osamu's taken a liking to a netsuke shaped like a plum sparrow but he doesn't buy it. "It'll just be one of those pretty little things I'll forget about next week," he says.

 _Am I a pretty little thing you'll forget about next week?_ Akaashi doesn't say.

It’s half past 8pm when they exit the shop, hands empty but eyes holding remnants of wonder. There’s a slight drizzle but this time, Akaashi’s prepared. He opens up his umbrella, about to start walking when he sees Osamu looking sheepish beside him. He has his hands in his pockets, umbrella nowhere in sight.

Akaashi lets out a light chuckle and signals for him to come closer. It’s a tight fit under the small plastic dome, especially when they’re both broad-shouldered ex-volleyball players, but they make it work. 

After a few minutes, Akaashi finds that he can’t take it anymore. Osamu’s warmth beside him not only makes his heart flutter, but it also makes heat rise up in his belly. It’s been haunting him all night. It’s making him want to do reckless things like—

“Do you want to drop by my place?”

Akaashi asks the question before his mind fully registers it and he only fully realizes the weight of it when he feels Osamu flinch beside him. He keeps count of the seconds it takes for Osamu to answer: a slow and agonizing seven. Osamu hasn’t mentioned Suna all night and Akaashi doesn’t have the heart to ask.

“Okay,” Osamu replies, voice a bit breathy if Akaashi allowed himself to be self-indulgent. He knows. They both know what’s coming up. Akaashi feels a familiar prickling sensation at the back of his neck and his fingers tingle with anticipation.

**☁️**

It starts the moment Akaashi locks the front door and Osamu's toed off his shoes. Osamu grabs him by the front of his sweater, pushes him firmly against the door, and locks their open mouths together.

Akaashi is startled but he instantly reciprocates. His fingers press into the small of Osamu's back, wrinkling the previously pristine button-down shirt. God. Osamu looks so handsome in smart casual but Akaashi's been wanting to take his shirt off all night.

“Are we going to do this again?” Osamu murmurs as he leaves wet kisses along Akaashi’s jaw and throat in a heated trail. Akaashi lets out a moan as the tight grip he had on his lust slips from his grasp.

“If you like,” Akaashi manages to breathe out. He feels Osamu’s erection brush against the fabric of his jeans. He’s just as hard as he is.

“I want you, ‘Kaashi.”

“I want you too.”

Osamu stops making out with Akaashi’s neck to look him in the eyes. “So you’re okay with this?”

Akaashi has to control himself from smiling. It’s endearing really, how Osamu treats him like the fragile porcelain plates from the antique shop as if he just didn’t manhandle him into a doorframe. And Akaashi is so fond but he’s also breathless with anticipation and nursing an ache that’s bone deep. He doesn’t allow himself to drown in the concern written all over Osamu’s features like a false promise.

“It’s just sex, Miya-san,” he replies, making sure his tone is light enough to not give away anything. “It’s okay.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Osamu draws back, looking pained. It’s the same look he gave Akaashi a few nights back, when the same words fell from the editor’s lips. Back then, Akaashi wasn’t exactly sure what to call it but right now, it’s evident that Osamu looks torn – painfully torn.

“What is it?” Akaashi asks, panic rising in his throat.

“It’s nothing,” Osamu replies before shifting his gaze away. “This. It’s nothing. Right?” He says it to Akaashi but it sounds like he’s talking to himself.

The panic rising in Akaashi’s throat morphs into dread and he feels like coughing his heart out. “I don’t understand...”

Osamu’s silence is brief before he steps out of Akaashi’s space completely. “Yeah...I think I’m gonna go.”

“Right now?”

Osamu nods, slipping on his leather shoes. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”

A few beats pass before Akaashi finds his words again. “Why? Is it because of Suna?” He asks quietly, like he’s afraid of the answer.

Something flits across Osamu’s face. “No. Why would you think— never mind.” Osamu works out the lines of his formerly crumpled expression, trying to regain composure. “I just – I just think this isn’t right.”

 _Tell him!_ The voice of rationality inside Akaashi’s head screams at him. _Tell him everything you feel! Tell him this is right if he feels the same!_

But the cowardly Akaashi comes creeping back, the flashes of boldness from earlier dissipating into the hollow air.

So he doesn’t say anything. He just watches as Osamu turns the handle of his front door and cops out a “Good night.”

The door is halfway closed when Akaashi cries out, “Miya-san, wait!” He tugs at the door and swings it wide open. “When can I see you again?”

Osamu studies the ground instead of looking at him. “I dunno. I’m goin’ to be pretty busy in the next few months and I’m not sure when I’ll be back in Tokyo.”

Akaashi deflates further. “Okay. Just...just update me then.”

Osamu looks up to smile at him but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Bye, ‘Kaashi-kun.”

“Goodbye, Miya-san.”

He watches Osamu walk away. The apartment has never felt as empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It really means a lot to me that you've reached up to this point. I promise it's going to be a happy ending! I cannot bear to write unrequited OsaAka. We'll just have to weather through a bit of angst first before we reach sunshine and rainbows.
> 
> Also, it will probably take me a while to post the final chapter. Life's going to be in the fast lane for me in the next few weeks because I'm moving out of my current place and I have a lot of requirements to chase after so I can fly back to my hometown (my country is still in community quarantine). Plus, work's been pretty heavy, as it always is in the advertising industry when the holidays are approaching.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, even if it ended in that note. Kudos and comments are very much appreciated <3
> 
> Take care and stay safe!


	3. Chapter 3

For the next few weeks, Osamu doesn’t reply to Akaashi’s messages. Every “Good morning!” and “It’s raining in Tokyo today. How are you?” is ignored. By the third week, he picks up the courage to call. The line rings and rings and rings. He tries again a week later. The busy tone takes over, rude in its rejection. At least Osamu had the decency to not block his number.

Akaashi reckons he deserves the acidity running through his veins each morning when he opens his eyes to a bed that feels emptier than it should. It’s funny, to be honest, that he thinks another person belongs there with him when he’d been the one to push Osamu away.

 _“This. It’s nothing, right?”_ Osamu had asked a month ago, his usually stoic face unravelling into an expression of hurt -- almost like the fine lines on his face weren’t used to heartbreak. It was the first time Akaashi had seen him look like a vulnerable, open wound and he had done that to him. Whatever pain they’re feeling right now is all because of Akaashi’s foolishness and cowardice.

But Akaashi’s determined to make amends. Just because he was a coward a month ago doesn’t mean he hasn’t mustered up enough courage at present. Now, if only Osamu would reply or pick up his calls and let him into his life once more. 

At first, it’s not like Osamu’s absence spurs a tremendous change in Akaashi’s life. He’s still early for work, makes sure he and his mangaka are meeting deadlines without compromising on the stories' quality, and joins his friends for drinks.

But anyone who’s known him long enough can see a considerable shift in his default state of being.

“Akaashi-kun, is everything alright?” Yukie asks as she places a glass of frothy beer in front of Akaashi. “Don’t worry about it, this one’s on me,” she says when Akaashi furrows his brows. “You look like you need it.”

Akaashi mutters a thank you before taking a sip. Konoha’s in the middle of telling Komi and Sarukui about his blossoming relationship with a coworker. Apparently, they’ve been having lunch dates for the past two weeks. Kaori’s running late due to overtime work. Baseball season’s in full swing and her job as a sports promoter has been keeping her on her toes for the past month. The rest couldn’t make it -- all part of adulthood woes.

“I’m okay, Shirofuku-san,” Akaashi replies, tracing random patterns on the surface of his glass. “Work’s just been pretty hectic as of late.”

Yukie hums, giving him a small smile. “You’re usually on top of things when it comes to work.” She tilts her head, her face softening. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering you?”

Akaashi feels fondness and warmth in his chest. Yukie was one of the first people he came out to back when he was still a fumbling teenager. She wasn’t surprised to say the least. She had treated him to ramen after a weekend practice, wanting to learn everything about Akaashi's new self-discovery. It had been one of the most freeing afternoons of Akaashi's life.

Several years later, it seems she's never lost her penchant for knowing the stirrings of Akaashi’s heart. He gives his senpai a small smile. “Maybe someday, Shirofuku-san.” They both jump a bit as Komi lets out a bark of laughter. “I think Konoha-san has a far more interesting story to tell.”

His close friends at work are a notch gentler with him. Nakamura-san gifts him a sunburst succulent. “To cheer up your work desk,” she says with a timid smile. Tenma treats him to lunch on a random Wednesday morning, claiming that Akaashi deserves it after all the overtime work he’s put in for the past weeks to help him move along with Meteo Attack’s final arc. Even the barista at the coffee shop next to their office building has started scribbling “You can do it!” on his order.

Two months pass by without hearing anything from Osamu. The ache in his chest grows deeper with each passing week. So many everyday things remind him of Osamu and it's terrifying how something as mundane as curry or Asahi Super Dry can be wallpapered with bittersweet memories. He hasn't passed by the antique shop he so frequently visited before too. Even just thinking about going to Junjo Shopping Street sends a ripple of pain through his chest. He wonders when these things and places will start being a part of his life again without regret assaulting his senses.

One day during his lunch break, he receives a message from an unregistered number.

**Unknown**

12:19pm

Hi! I’m Tsukasa Kazuya. Sorry if this is random but I got your number from Komi. I don’t know any other way to say this but I think you’re really attractive. Would you like to go out on a date with me this Saturday? Komi told me you love volleyball and I’ve got courtside seats to the Falcons vs. Hornets game :)

Akaashi stares at the message for a minute. It’s the second time Komi’s tried to set him up with one of his friends. He finishes eating his lunch before replying. The excuse he comes up with is a blatant lie.

**Unknown**

12:45pm

Hello, Tsukasa-san. Sorry, I can’t. Work is crazy right now.

12:47pm

It’s cool! Maybe next time then? I promise to make it a fun date.

It's sweet and light. Akaashi feels absolutely no pressure. Still, he can't find it in him to respond. He sends a quick text to Komi: "Sorry about your friend, Komi-san. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but I don't feel like going out with anyone right now." He turns off his phone for the rest of the day, unable to get the soft and sultry expressions of Osamu's face out of his head.

**☁️**

It’s a rainy evening when Akaashi sees Bokuto’s new IG post. It’s a photo of a traditional storefront: tatami walls, a sloping roof with timber shingles, and two lanterns emitting a soft, warm glow right beside the shoji where a midnight-blue banner bears the Onigiri Miya logo. The caption reads: “Hey hey hey! Myaa-sam’s finally opening his Tokyo branch next Saturday!! The team is SOOOOO excited!!! We LOVE Myaa-sam’s onigiri!!!!!”

Akaashi doesn’t have to think twice. He notes the location of the shop, his heart hammering so wildly he’s afraid it’ll jump out of his chest. Of course Osamu will be there for the opening. 

Akaashi is both terrified and excited to see him again. It’s been two and a half months of letting Osamu -- handsome, street smart, and thoughtful Osamu -- slip between his fingers. Now, he’s more than ready to take him by the hand and keep him close, whatever it takes.

Akaashi starts pacing across his bedroom, full of questions, unresolved feelings, and a heart that’s ready to heal. 

Next Saturday, he will see Osamu again.

Next Saturday, he will be brave.

  
**☁️**

On the day of Onigiri Miya's opening in Tokyo, Akaashi wakes up before his alarm. It seems even his body is eager to see Osamu again. 

After a light breakfast, he steps right into the shower, foregoing his Saturday ritual of doing his laundry. He doesn't know the exact time of the opening but the earlier he gets there, the better. He wants to catch Osamu before the guests and customers come pouring in, even if it's just for five minutes. Akaashi reckons five minutes is more than enough to ask for an apology and another chance at whatever was brewing between them. 

He picks out a blue sweater that he knows complements his eyes and a pair of black skinny jeans. He slips on his faded gray Onitsuka Tigers and takes a long look at himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he grabs his backpack from the couch and heads out.

It’s a clear, beautiful day. The sky is pure blue with wisps of clouds looking like stretched cotton. Akaashi has no trouble going to the station and he arrives just a minute before the next train. Asagaya is just a station away from Koenji and Akaashi could’ve easily walked the distance but he wants to be as early as possible. He checks his phone. It’s only a quarter past 9 a.m.

But apparently, he's not early enough because there’s already a line outside the store. Akaashi sees a sign on the window saying, “Welcome to Onigiri Miya! Open Hours: 8AM to 8PM Daily." Akaashi curses under his breath. He had assumed that since it was the first day, they wouldn’t be operating on regular hours. He’s underestimated just how hardworking Osamu is.

Akaashi adjusts the strap of his backpack and heads to the back of the line. There are at least fifteen people in front of him, most of them teenagers. The pair of girls in front of him are scrolling through Twitter and giggling. One of them squeals, “Atsumu just tweeted that he’s on his way! Oh my god, we’ll be able to get his autograph later.” Her friend visibly deflates and says, “Good for you. Bokuto posted an IG story five minutes ago. He’s still busy with the photoshoot for Adidas.” She lets out a wistful sigh. “Guess I’ll just come by again this afternoon.”

Akaashi can’t help the smile that slowly spreads across his face. He should’ve known MSBY’s fangirls would flock to Osamu’s restaurant. If it were any other establishment, he’d side-eye the idea of Atsumu using his fame to garner interest for his twin’s business but Osamu’s onirigi are so good they deserve all the hype and free promo.

But perhaps, Akaashi is just biased as well.

The line moves along quickly, making Akaashi’s fingers tingle with both dread and anticipation. He unlocks his phone and starts answering crossword puzzles to keep his trepidation at bay. As he gets nearer and nearer to the front of the line, he can hear soft jazz music playing from the shop’s speakers. The crooning voice makes his palms sweat. He remembers that Osamu wasn’t a fan of jazz songs before their dinner at Jirokichi. Something like hope blooms in his chest. It’s a delicate yet also powerful feeling and Akaashi basks in it. He needs all the positive vibes he can get at the moment.

After fifteen minutes, the girls in front of him are next to enter the shop. He exits the Crosswords app and opens his front camera to quickly check his hair before he pockets his phone and braces himself. He's brimming with hope and confidence.

That is, until the two girls in front of him shriek in utter delight. Suddenly, there’s a slight clamor as the people in line whip their phones out and talk excitedly over each other.

And the hope that bloomed in his chest just five minutes ago gets squashed to a pulp as Suna Rintarou saunters into view. The EJP Raijin middle blocker throws a small smile and a quick wave to everyobe before ducking into the shop’s entrance, not at all bothered by the queue. Almost as if he has entered the shop many times before, perhaps over the months when the branch was being outfitted -- almost as if he belongs there. 

Unlike Akaashi, who’s still stuck in line and struck dumbfounded. He feels stupid, so very stupid when the realization comes crashing down. All of the ignored text messages and phone calls suddenly make sense now. Of course, there's a good possibility that Osamu and Suna had gotten back together the past few months. And if Osamu had gotten back together with Suna, he had no reason to entertain Akaashi anymore.

Akaashi finds it very hard to breathe. What were the breathing exercises taught to him by his former coach again? He feels like he's going to suffocate from the ache that threatens to swallow his chest whole.

There’s a tap on his shoulder and he scrounges up enough energy to turn around. “Mister, I think you should go in now,” the girl wearing a Miya 13 MSBY jersey says to him, an expression of mild exasperation present on her features. 

He mutters a quick apology before he finds the will to move his feet, which feel like bricks at the moment. He swallows down his unease and thinks to himself, “Change of plans. I’m only here to buy onigiri. Nothing less, nothing more.”

Akaashi enters the shop and it’s both bittersweet that he locks eyes with Osamu immediately, the latter chirping out a “Welcome to Oni-” before it dies on his tongue. Recognition blends with disbelief in the slight parting of his lips. Osamu’s in his usual black uniform, a dark blue apron tied around his waist. His skin glows in the shop’s warm lighting, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. He looks devastatingly handsome and Akaashi falls in love all over again.

Akaashi gives Osamu a hesitant smile. The restaurant owner smiles back but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the same smile he gave Akaashi before he left his apartment, with Akaashi’s heart in his hands. And now, with Suna sitting on the counter and looking warily at him, Akaashi just wants his heart back.

This isn’t how Akaashi planned the morning to go but he’s still going to be brave. He’s going to be brave for himself. 

When it’s finally his turn to order, Osamu says to him, “You’re here.” His tone is polite and customer-friendly. Akaashi almost winces.

Suna glances up from the tuna onigiri he’s eating and regards Akaashi with curiosity. “Hey, weren’t you Fukurodani’s setter and captain during our third year?”

Akaashi nods while Osamu only presses his lips together in a tight crescent. He drops his eyes, reaching for the pot of rice by his side. “What will it be, Akaashi-san?”

Akaashi definitely winces at that. They’re back to honorifics. 

“Two umeboshi, two salmon, and one karaage,” Akaashi drones out his order, proud that his voice doesn’t shake.

“Do you two know each other?” Suna asks. It’s supposed to be just an innocent question, but it’s a loaded one for the both of them.

“Yeah. We hung out a few months ago,” Osamu says, voice devoid of emotion as he molds the rice into perfect triangles.

“Oh?” the middle blocker raises his eyebrows at that. “Here in Tokyo? Is that why you were never free for dinner? Wow Samu-”

“It’s okay, Suna-san,” Akaashi interrupts, the words leaving his mouth before he has the chance to think about the weight of his next words. “We’re just friends.”

Osamu flinches in the middle of wrapping the rice in seaweed. What semblance of nonchalance he had on his face is completely gone. When he looks up, his eyes communicate distress.

Suna picks up on the strange atmosphere and Akaashi doesn’t miss the way his languid stance becomes more rigid. He squints his eyes at Akaashi, as if assessing. Akaashi keeps his eyes on his order, which Osamu is now placing carefully into a paper bag. He’s nothing but efficient and there are customers waiting. Akaashi is a fool to think that Osamu would have time for him today, especially with Suna here.

“That’ll be ¥1,350,” Osamu says, not meeting Akaashi’s eyes.

Akaashi hands him the exact amount, bows his head in thanks, and high-tails it out of the shop. He thinks he hears someone say, “Wait!” but he doesn’t have it in him to turn around. 

He spends the rest of his day in bed, combs over every little detail, regrets his cowardice from two months ago for the nth time, and tugs the covers over his head.

When he wakes, a storm rages outside his apartment. There’s a strike of lightning, a clap of thunder, and wind howling against his window. Akaashi feels all of those inside him too.

He reaches for the notepad and pen he keeps on his bedside table.

For the first time in months, he writes a poem. 

  
**☁️**

The next morning, he takes a shower after eating the onigiri he left on the dining table (it is delicious and high-quality as expected), puts on clean clothes, and tries to teach his heart not to want things it can’t have. He does it through writing.

And it’s sad, really, that someone could hurt him so much he has to write about it.

For the first time in months, Akaashi’s _moved_. But it’s horrible because he writes a poem about falling in love with conversations over a bowl of wantanmen, about falling in love with deep gray eyes that hold ambition, about falling in love with the right person at the wrong time.

It’s a little past 11 a.m. and he's halfway through his fifth stanza when the doorbell rings. 

That's odd. He checks his messages but no one texted to inform him that they’d be visiting. Must be a package then.

He pads over to his door, making sure to check who it is through the peephole. His heart drops once he sees his visitor.

Akaashi opens the door to find Osamu on his doorstep, looking slightly disheveled but every bit as handsome as the first and last time he saw him. Akaashi’s heart _aches_.

“Miya-san,” is the only thing Akaashi can muster to say.

“Akaashi, can we talk?” Osamu asks but his tone implies that he’s not exactly requesting.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at your store?”

“Akaashi, please.” This time, his voice is pleading. 

Akaashi lets him in silently but his heart is beating so loud he’s sure Osamu can hear it. Osamu slips off his sandals and he lets Akaashi lead him to the living room. They both don’t sit down.

Akaashi stops next to his armchair, nibbling on his upper lip. Osamu trains his gaze on Akaashi and runs his hand through his hair. He looks unsure of himself.

Slowly, Osamu asks, “Do ya have a boyfriend?”

Akaashi’s eyes widen. “What?”

Osamu repeats, with more conviction this time. “Do ya have a boyfriend, Akaashi?”

“No.”

“Me too.” Osamu takes a deep breath. “Did ya think I had one?”

Akaashi grips the top of his armchair. He nods.

“Did ya think it was Rin?”

This time, Akaashi finds his words. “Y-yes, I did.”

“Why?” His question is laced with frustration, eyebrows scrunched up. “I told ya we broke up years ago. We weren’t together anymore when I kept meeting up with ya. Ya knew that.”

“Yes, but he kept calling you,” Akaashi insists. “And he was at your store yesterday.”

"Oh my god, is that why--" Osamu’s expression softens. “Ya know, Akaashi, for someone who’s really smart, ya like jumping to conclusions without asking questions. Rin was calling me all the time because he needed advice." He runs his hand through his hair again. “Look, ya didn’t hear this from me but Rin’s head over heels in love with Komori, his team’s libero. If ya stayed long enough yesterday, ya would’ve heard how whipped he is. ‘Twas embarrassing.” Osamu trains his gaze back to Akaashi and takes a few steps forward. “And if ya had stayed long enough yesterday, we could be out on a brunch date right now.”

The ground beneath Akaashi practically shudders. Is he hearing things correctly?

Osamu is so close right now, close enough for Akaashi to pull in and never let go but he still feels a terrible distance between them. “B-but you ignored all my text messages and calls,” he says in a quiet, shaky voice. "I reached out to you but you never replied." He no longer cares that he sounds reproachful and lovesick.

Osamu swallows, looking contrite. “I know, and I’m sorry. I was an asshole for ignoring you like that. It’s just that I really thought ya only wanted something casual. Just talk. Just sex. Just a friend. But I wanted more than that.” Osamu purses his lips for a brief moment before continuing. “But sometimes, I’d catch ya looking at me the way I looked at ya, and ya said little things and they really affected me, ya know? But I wasn't sure if ya really meant them or I was just feeding a fantasy. That night when I left, I was hurt. And I was still hurting when ya tried to contact me.”

Akaashi stays rooted to his spot, feeling like his heart is caught in his throat. “What are you saying?”

“I have a better question. Why did you come to my store yesterday?” Osamu takes a step closer, eyes challenging. “Why were you there? Tell me the truth.”

Akaashi pushes his heart back in its rightful place. “I came to see you.”

“Why?” Osamu takes another step, slowly but surely bridging the distance between them.

“Because I missed you.” Akaashi takes a deep breath. After months of being afraid, it's time to be brave. “And because I like you, Miya-san. I’m...I'm really into you.”

That’s the only thing Osamu needs to hear before he takes one last step, grabs Akaashi by his shirt, and locks their lips together.

This time, when Akaashi offers himself to Osamu, he remembers every single second of it.

They take each other's clothes off in broad daylight, the soft glow of sunshine like a warm embrace as they worship each other's bodies. Osamu's mouth is damp and tender against his skin. Akaashi presses his lips against Osamu's neck, chest, and thighs, relishing the clean scent of Osamu's skin and the way he whispers, "Keiji, you're the only one I want." That one goes straight to Akaashi's cock. 

Their mouths never separate for long, even when Osamu's buried deep inside him and they move their hips together to a wonderful rhythm. They are spellbound and in love.

  
  
**☁️**

Half an hour later, they’re both on Akaashi’s bed, still naked and enjoying the feeling of skin on skin. Osamu stops playing with Akaashi’s hair to ask, “What made ya think I didn’t like you?”

Akaashi takes a few seconds to reply. “I don’t know, maybe I’m too serious and boring and—”

“Akaashi, I could stare at ya all day an’ never get bored. Ya know I’ve been attracted to ya since the day ya bought onigiri from my stall during the Jackals vs Adlers game at Sendai.”

Alright. That was really unfair of Osamu to say. Akaashi turns his head to peek at Osamu, who has a look of fondness splayed across his boyishly handsome face. “You know I started writing again.”

“That’s great! What did ya write about?”

“About how falling in love with you is like weathering through a storm.”

Osamu stares at him for a few beats before he presses his lips on Akaashi’s forehead. “Will you let me read it?”

“Hmmmm...when I’m done with it.”

And his Literature professors would whack him on the head for writing poems about being so lovesick it hurts but it’s a start. What matters is he found his words again and the person he let go of months ago is his now.

Akaashi thinks that maybe sometimes, the universe fights for two souls to be together. Some things, like Osamu beside him looking every bit like a teenage dream, are just too strong and beautiful to be coincidences.

It’s starting to rain outside.

With Osamu’s arms wrapped around him, Akaashi falls asleep to the pitter-patter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Thank you so so so much for reading this lil story of mine. I apologize if it took almost two months for me to post the final chapter but there were a lot of personal matters I had to take care of. I really wanted to post the final chapter before the year ends though so I'm grateful I was able to finish this.
> 
> And don't worry, Osamu went right back to Onigiri Miya right after their lil romantic romp haha he's a very responsible owner! Let's just say he has an equally responsible manager who oversaw things while he tried to win back Akaashi.
> 
> I'm also thinking of writing a side-story, this time in Osamu's POV! Let me know if you'd be interested to read that because I can't quite let go of this pairing yet.
> 
> Again, thank you so much! I hope you have a wonderful new year <3
> 
> (As of 10/01/2021, I have revived my Twitter acc! Hit me up if you wanna talk about OsaAka, Haikyuu, or anime in general: @shishidoaoi)


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